Hiccups
by zedonkulouslybashful
Summary: Merrill pines for M!Hawke and Fenris...who are into each other. Isabella has a plan. But it, like herself, has hiccups. Pairings: Isabela/Varric, M!Hawke/Fenris, and Merrill/Carver. Rated M. NSFW.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: These are borrowed, Bioware-owned characters.

**Prompt**: Merrill's adorable and devious self.

* * *

**Notes**: A lulz-y fic to break from 'Human Titles' and to nod to Parad0xotaur's 'Kitten'. If you read that and my 'Orlesian Honey' first, the ending will be more meaningful / funny. Also, you might have to squint and tilt her head to understand Isabella...

* * *

"What's the matter, Kitten?"

Merrill startled at Isabela's question. "Oh, um...well..."

She glanced up at Hawke, who was returning to the other end of their table. With two pints in each hand for Fenris and himself, he caught her glance and gave a platonic smile and nod.

"Nothing...nothing at all", Merrill concluded to the pirate with a sigh.

"Oh-ho, I see. ...You know, Kitten, I'm very perceptive. And, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were sweet on our Hawke. Am I far off?"

Merrill shifted in her seat. She peered down across the table at them both. They were laughing at one of Varric's naughty stories and throwing back their drinks in big gulps. Oblivious to her pining. As usual.

Each had their appeal.

Fenris was particularly handsome for an elf. His vallaslin only accentuated what the Creators gave him naturally. Had he returned to the Elvhen after his escape, he would have been a prized Hunter. His demeanor unnerved her, sure, but being a slave, she could understand. The magisters used the blood of the unwilling, used the lyrium in his skin as a conduit. She sickened at the thought. It didn't lessen the hurt when his wrath toward his former masters was aimed at her. He didn't treat Hawke that way, though...

And Hawke. Merrill hardly had words to describe how she felt toward him. Gentle but firm, considerate, strong, clever, witty, intriguingly handsome even as humans go... Hmm, maybe finding words wasn't the problem; it was finding the list's end...

"Merrill?"

"Oh, yes, um. Hawke is...sigh, something...isn't he?"

Isabela smirked, "Indeed." She took a swig of her drink, wiping the drip with her forearm. "...Fenris isn't too bad either."

Merrill looked at her with widened eyes. "How did you-"

"Relax, Kitten. I'm perceptive, remember? Also, I'm not an idiot. The exact same thing has crossed my mind, believe me. Hm-hmm." Her brown eyes glinted as she smirked down another drink.

Merrill's expression darkened. She curled her fingers around her (now cold) tea and took as small sip. "_Perfect_", she thought, "_I'm an obvious, love-sick fool. And in competition will Isabela. Which means not a chance in the Beyond._"

Amused, Isabella gave her a nudge and caused Merrill to spill most of her tea on her robes. "Cheer up, Sweetheart. I'll help."

"Wh-what?" Merrill shook her head, simultaneously confused and relieved. And concerned about her now damp clothes. "But I thought you said-"

"Merrill, Dear", her voice was velvet, "I have _other_ avenues to get what I want." She brightened, "Besides, this'll be fun. ...I assume you've never...?"

"Oh no. No. Not...not two...um...barely one, actually." Merrill blushed at her own honesty.

Isabela smiled mischievously, "Oh, this **will** be fun. Mind if I write a story about it?-oh, never mind. I am." With a wink, she drank the rest of her liquor in one pull, waving to Norah for her sixth.

"Isa-bela!"

Aveline, Sebastian, and Varric tilted their heads from their conversations at Merrill's outburst. Carver looked over from his sulk at the bar. The Hanged Man was a noisy place and she was typically a quiet person. Hawke and Fenris, however, were too engrossed with each other to notice.

Isabela noted that blushing Merrill had unfathomably greener eyes than regular Merrill. A slow smile crept across her face as she imagined how green _flushed_ Merrill's eyes must be. "_Oh, yes, delicious material_", this she mused.

"Come-on, Kitten. You have noth-ing to wor-ry about. Tell-ya what. I'll let you read any-thing I come up with. Think of it as...game splans. Hic-hup." Isabela smiled into her own fingers. "_Hm, warm, hap-py, and hiccup-ing. Outstan-ding writing conditions...,_" she thought. "Hic-hup."

Merrill, with hands covering her elven ears to hide her embarrassment, let out a long sigh. "No, that's...um... quite, quite alright. Just nothing...dreadfully identifiable...pretty please?"

The busty pirate stood, swaying just a little as she crossed her arms and looked down at Merrill. "Only be-cause you said pwease, 'weetheart. Hm-hmm. Foll-ow me, my Dear. We must discuss your tac-tics."

"Norah, de-liver number six-ix to my ro-om", Isabela called to the waitress (who was ignoring her anyway). "Knock first, ple-ease!"

The pair left the noise of the tavern behind Isabela's apartment door, with a bandana on the knob so they wouldn't be disturbed.

"Sooo-oh", the pirate hiccuped, "my Gre-edy Elven Beau-ty, both huh?"

Merrill only sighed in reply, too dismayed to blush at the compliment. She wished she was Isabela; everything seems to come so naturally to her...

"Oh, do-o cheer up, Kitt-en. I've already got toni-ight's plan puzzled out."

"What do you mean?"

Norah pounded on the door. "Your drinks, Ms. Ship-less!"

"Come in!" she called, then muttered a bit too loudly, "sstupid bi-tch."

"I heard that", said the barmaid, entering the room, "Here's the sixth and another for your...companion. Or your seventh. Either way." Norah set them on the table then held out her hand, waiting.

Isabela gave her a low-five and giggled. Then hiccuped.

"Come on, Captain. I hiked up the stairs. With a spare drink even! I've got my own tab to pay, you know..."

"Fine, you, you we-ench. Here's your go-old."

Norah nodded and turned to leave. As she did, Isabela smacked her on the ass. Norah didn't startle, to Isabela's disappointment.

"What did she bring you, Isabela?" asked Merrill, sniffing the warm beverage.

Isabela replied, "I dunno. Have so-ome!"

Merrill tentatively raised the mug to her lips and tasted it. Whatever it was, it tasted like Lowtown smelled. "Mm-hmm. ...Um, thank you, Isabela", she said as the elf push the tankard away.

"Mo-ore for me then." Isabela was already three-quarters of the way done with her own. Pausing for a second, she put her hand to her chest, then belched ferociously. "Aaah, much better. Ale is the **best** cure for hiccups there is, smy Dear!" she cheered as she took the final pull, already eyeing Merrill's disowned tankard.

"Actually, there's a certain root that grows on Sundermount that- Well, never mind, I'll just start babbling and you're being so helpful."

"Oh, yes, that's sright; tonight's splan! Well, my sKitten, tonight you're going to sfollow Hawke to his esta- estate! as a scat, then-"

"Sorry?"

"As a scat! You know, 'meow'? Chase srats? sAnders **luffs** them?"

"No, no, I knew what you meant. But how? I don't know any 'make me into a cat' spells. ...Or potions. ...Do you? That would be so interesting!"

"Hm... No and sno. I must have sconfused you with ssomeone else. ...Right, then, shold on."

The pirate downed another quarter of her ale and sat for a few seconds. "I know! Do you sstill have that sstring Varric gave you?"

"Yes..."

"Excsellent! I'll be the sdistraction while you tuck it to Hawke's sbelt. Then while I'm, hmm-hm, talking to sSebastian and Fenris, you sask Hawke to swalk you home. sDrop the yarn as you sleave then cast, um, oh swhat is it? sMisdirection?"

"Yes! I know that one!"

"Ah, sgood. sCast that then have him take syou to his splace. Then just sfollow the yarn back here once you're done and I swalk you home to sLowtown and get sdirt! ...Oh! sAlmost forgot, tell Bodahn that Hawke is sick and sask for tea and a **sjar** of honey."

"What for-"

"sAs an sappetizer! And for the smain course..." Isabela staggered to her night stand and retrieved a large floppy...phallic...thing from the drawer. "sMagic up one of these."

"Oh my!" gasped Merrill. "What do I do-"

"sKit-ten! Don' worry! I lift-ed the rec-iepe off an Or-slesian in Denerim!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: These are borrowed, Bioware-owned characters.

**Prompt**: Merrill's adorable and devious self.

**Almost-Prompt** (See notes below): dragonage - k ink . live journal . ? thread = 35845504 # t 35845504

* * *

**Completely Unrelated to This Fic Question**: Anyone know how old Bevin is, post-Blight? Google / Wikia were no help.

**Notes**: Updated this to Carver + Merrill. I want to keep this one light to counterbalance the angst of my 'Human Titles' fic.

Per the almost-prompt above, the plan was for Merrill to FAIL with SquickedByVag!Hawke, "WIN" with Fenris who then leaves Hawke/"Merrill" for Isabela, Pissed!Hawke hates Merrill, Merrill hates EVIL-ChessMaster!Isabela, and Templar!Unrequited-a-la-Cullen!Carver takes PregByFenris!Merrill to Gallows.

...Opposite of fluff.

If anyones wants to take that idea, feel free. Please let me know so I can (attempt to *sad!*) read.

Oh, and lest anyone call foul, for this fic Isabela was not present for the "A Murder of Crows" quest and therefore did not proposition Zevran for sex. He's in Antiva, the Anderfels, or the afterlife for all she knows.

And finally, this fic contains a strapless strap-on. Yes, they do exist. Just so there's no confusion while you read, the nubby "pony" end goes in the wearer and the longer "horse" end goes in the recipient-there are no actual equines in this fic. ;)

Here comes fluff!

* * *

-1-

He dared to steal another look at her. Except...she wasn't there. "Where did she-," Carver thought. He gave a cursory look around the tavern. Then he saw Isabela's blue bandanna...and Merrill in tow. She was taking her upstairs! Carver slammed his tankard on the bar. Corff startled, expecting all of his glassware to crash to the ground.

Carver tried to push his way through the crowd. He looked at the stairway again, hoping, "Maybe she's coming right back." Instead he saw Norah turning toward Isabela's room, two drinks in hand. He fought harder. In this struggle, Carver elbowed Varric in the head.

"Hey! Watch it, Junior!"

"Out of my way, dwarf!"

Varric grabbed his arm, "And where are you going in such a hurry?"

"I said 'Get out of my way!'"

In response, Varric let go, stood on table, and bellowed, "MOVE, _Junior_ needs through!" The crowd immediately snapped to. Sheepishly, Carver weaved through the crowd, Varric following. At the foot of the stairs, Varric pulled on his arm again, "What's going on?"

Norah butted though them. Carver used the distraction to fly up the stairs two at a time. "Damnit, Junior!" he yelled as he scurried after him.

Varric knocked into the stock-still Carver. He was staring at the blue bandanna on the ground. "Stripping even better the door was closed!" he fumed.

"**WHAT** is your problem, Carver?" asked the exasperated dwarf, moving to face him. "The can is on down the hall, unless you've already pissed yourself!"

Carver glared at him and gestured to his pants, "As tall as you are, you could surely tell if I had!"

Unimpressed with the lame insult, he countered, "It's not my habit to look that way at men."

Carver rolled his eyes, pushed Varric aside, and put his ear to the door. He was relieved to not hear amorous noises. Varric started punching his ribs and scolding him.

"Shut up, Varric. ...What did you give Merrill string for?"

He paused mid-jab. "Eavesdropping is rude, you know. ...Well, unless you're getting paid for."

Carver grabbed Varric's fist. "String! Merrill! Why?" asserted Carver.

Varric glared up at him, calculating. "...I'll tell you if you tell me why you are so bent that you can't **apologize** for giving me a knot on the head."

He sighed. "...Look, I'm overshadowed enough as it is by my brother. Last thing I need is to..." then he muttered, "be bested by a woman."

"Ah," Varric said, lowering his fist.

Carver heard stumbling and put his ear back to the door. Confused, he looked at Varric, "Recipes? They're talking about recipes?"

"See, idiot, nothing to worry about."

Suddenly, the door opened and Carver was face-to-face with Merrill.

"Oh, hello Carver...Varric."

He swallowed. "H- Hi...Merrill."

"Well, shello boys! sCome on in!" called Isabela, thinking she set her phallic instrument on her nightstand. It bounced on the floor. Carver didn't notice; Varric did.

Merrill blushed, ducked out the door between the them, and giggled to herself about what Isabela might have in store for the pair. Carver watched her leave, dumbstruck.

Isabela pulled them inside. Merrill was mid-way down the stairs when she remembered Isabela's plan. "How is she going to distract Fenris when she's..." She turned around and was about to knock, but then thought better of it. "Maybe I'm supposed to wait until they are _done_..." She blushed again, giggled, and returned down the hall.

"So sVarric, I has some snew material," slurred the pirate. She missed the edge of the bed and hit the floor. She snickered at herself.

"How many?" asked Varric, knowingly.

"None syet."

"Not partners. Drinks."

"Oh, um, ssix? No, sseven."

"Rivaini, your limit is five. Remember?"

"Oh, sHush. You have a squill?"

"Always." He tapped three buttons on Bianca rhythmically. A compartment in her side opened and he retrieved a tiny quill, a small inkwell, and some rolled parchment from it. As Varric strolled over to the table and perched himself on a chair, Carver stood, impressed. "Dwarven engineering," he muttered.

As Isabela's head lolled back, Varric cleared his throat. "Begin," he said, simply.

"The elven sminx threw her head back sas he buried his ssword into her yawning, wet scabbard."

Carver's eyes shot open, crimson rimming his ears. Not obviously affected, Varric scratched down the sentence and said, "Continue."

"His slength thrust deeper and sfaster into sher. sSweat dripped sdown her spine. Her arms squivered-"

"Hold on, Rivaini...Her arms...squi, no, qui...vered...Okay, go ahead."

"from...um...from...se sexertion. ...Heh," Isabela giggled, "_sex_ertion."

She squirmed, getting turned on by this latest bit of friend-fiction. Bleary-eyed, she looked to her nightstand. "sVarric, have you sseen..."

"On the floor," he replied, still writing.

"Oh," she said, grinning stupidly when she saw it. She reached for it and, faster than Carver thought possible, the dwarf blocked her. "Now, now, Rivaini, you were getting to the good part." Then, to Carver, "Hey, Junior, take over for me, will ya?"

Varric sat next to her on the floor. She scooted down so she could nuzzle his chest hair but he didn't allow it. To her, he whispered, "Not yet, Isa."

Carver awkwardly sat down and picked up the quill. "You were saying?" Varric cooed to her, brushing her unkempt hair behind her ear and lightly grazing her neck.

-2-

"Dealer has 10 of shields," said Hawke, revealing a very strong hand of Diamondback. At least, that's what he wanted them to think.

Sebastian eyed him skeptically and raised his bet.

Aveline and Fenris folded.

Then Merrill, sitting more close to him than he preferred, said, "Hawke...don't you need a knight?"

Sebastian smirked, said "Thank you," and raked in his winnings. Hawke tossed his cards on top, annoyed.

"Um...what just happened?"

"You helped a cheater lose, Merrill," said Aveline, standing up. "Well, Everyone, I've got patrol tonight. Please stay out of trouble. I'd hate to lock up friends." She looked at Fenris with her last comment.

He replied, toasting her, "Your efforts are appreciated."

"Going to lock up Anders?" asked Hawke, baiting her.

She looked at him wide-eyed, then looked around before whispering, harshly, "Hawke! Shut it." Then, more loudly, "Anders? I'm not sure where he gets off too. If you see him causing any trouble, you let me know."

"You bet," said Hawke and Fenris, together, with different degrees of seriousness. But Merrill, missing the opposing inflections in their voices, sighed. "They know just what the other is going to say," she thought as she watched Sebastian count his silver.

"Fourty-six, fourty-seven, fourty-eight. Ha! Two and nearly a half sovereigns off you lot!"

"It'll be mine again tomorrow."

"Not if I donate it to the Chantry first."

"You wouldn't," dared Hawke.

With that, Sebastian got up to leave, grinning. Fenris got up to. Hawke asked, "What? Are you going with him?"

"Shall I inform you whenever need to take a piss?"

Hawke rolled his eyes at him, when he eyes came to rest on Merrill. Then, in a falsetto, bouncy voice, Hawke feigned, "But we can go together!"

Merrill didn't get that that was a snide way of getting her to say or do something. Or, more accurately, a signal for Fenris to not leave him alone with her. She hadn't done anything since Aveline left except sigh, stare at him or Fenris, or read a ratty piece of parchment Isabela must have given her.

Fenris shook his head and turned toward the stairs.

"With the whore and the bore in cohoots, who knows what vile man-trap it is," Hawke thought. His mouth coated. Suddenly he said, "I'm getting a drink," and shot up to get it without offering her one.

Figuring she missed some cultural nuance, she took the chance to tuck the string in a loop of his robes and cast a misdirection spell on him. She didn't know what Isabela was doing and, frankly, she didn't need a distraction anymore with everyone gone.

-3-

"What happens next?" asked Varric, fingers tracing her collarbone.

"Hm-hm...sWell. Um...swhat did I ssay?"

Varric looked at Carver, expectantly. "Oh," Carver pulled the parchment closer and read, "Her arms...qui- quivered from the sex-...I mean, exertion!"

"Oh, sright."

She continued, squirming and pausing every once in a while to plea with Varric or to fight off her boots. Carver wrote and edited feverishly, his member tense with anticipation:

**_"The doorframe's notches barely kept her staff in place. As he fucked her, she strained to keep her grip on her bouncing support. Her long pale legs wrapped around him but they weren't much help, sweaty as they were. 'Mawke!" she yell-"_**

Confused, Carver stopped Isabela's slurred dictation. "Isabela, is this about my _staunchly gay_ brother...or me?"

She laughed and said no. "But that was an 'or' question. Which is it?"

"sAre you a top slike your brotsher?" she asked, aburptly.

"What?"

"I shaven't even got to swhen Merrill's, no...Cherrill's...sgreen eyes slook whoa-green when her sskin is all sflushed..."

Carver's mouth watered at the image. He closed his eyes and adjusted in the chair. The pressure in his breeches was starting to hurt.

"And when Fenris...um, Fen...Fenril...sjoins and they altersnate their pumpings," she said excitedly, gesticulating with her fingers.

His fantasy was instantly destroyed.

To Varric she whined, "sPlease..."

Carver dropped the quill and got up. Isabela asked, "sWhere you going? sAren't you sgoing to be Fenris?"

"What the fuck?" he exclaimed.

To Isabela, Varric said, calmly, "No, Isa, remember? I keep you safe now."

"Will she only fuck you when she's drunk, dwarf?"

Varric stood, flew across the room to him, and fired back through his teeth, "I'm the **only** one who fucks her."

"Bullshit," Carver said, dismissively.

"Look, you wanted to leave. So go."

"Fine."

He slammed the door. Just then Fenris passed him. Unbidden, the image of him..."with" Merrill, made him fume even more.

"Brooding even after whoring?" asked Fenris, feigning interest.

"Shut up, elf."

-4-

"Damnit Varric! I sreally wanted to try that."

"We will."

"How?"

"You got any rope?"

She scoffed, "Of course," then asked mischeviously, "Why?"

"Get it."

While she felt around under her bed, he retrieved the phallus on the floor by her nightstand. He gave it a quick rinse in the basin then crossed the room and set it on the blanket.

Varric motioned for her to get on the bed and she did so. He tied a couple running knots and gave her the rope. "You remembered," she said, charmed but then immediately forcing nonchalance. He smiled but he didn't let her see. While she looped the excess around the bed posts, he got his coat and boots off and climbed on the bed too.

He spit on the pony end of the phallus, untied his breeches, and coaxed it into his anus. "A dwarf with two sdicks? You **are** the Paragon of Manliness," she said with a wink.

Pleased, he said, "It's just a matter of making it official." Starting at her knees, he kissed and trailed his fingers down to her center. Her skin goose-pimpled and she splayed her legs, her tied hands gripping the bedposts.

Hoisting her lower half up, Varric worked the horse end of the phallus and his member into their respective entrances. He rocked back and forth so his thrusts alternated.

She moaned, "Way...better...than...stor-" He quickened his pace and her enthusiastic cries got louder. He gave up on alternating and pounded her to the hilt. The pony end inside him beat euphorically on his prostate. "_No_," he chided himself.

Then she bucked and clenched around him and his toes curled with his release. Panting, he set her down, exited, and wobbled back to the basin to clean up. Isabela smiled sleepily, arms still tied up and one of her long legs hanging off the side of the bed.

Returning, he untied her. As she rolled onto her side, he unfurled the blanket over top of her and tucked her in.

"Good night, Isa," he said, kissing her sweaty brow. He stowed the spare parchment, ink, and quill in Bianca, took his other belongings, and quietly left the room.

Suddenly he remembered all the bruises and cuts she had that fateful night, so many years ago. Puke was in her hair and she was sloppily drunk. He vowed then, "Women are okay when sober, no man but me...Isa." And he kept his word. All of her drunken 'exploits' were with him so she'd be safe. And her sordid stories were all just friend-fictions they wrote together.

"I've got editing to do."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: These are borrowed, Bioware-owned characters.

**Prompt**: Merrill's adorable and devious self.

* * *

**Notes**: I apologize in advance. First because Merrill was given a ball of _twine_ by Varric, not string. Doesn't seem worth re-posting the two previous chapters though, so...it stays. Second, no porn in this chapter. But it's coming next chapter.

* * *

-1-

Hawke immediately teetered forward into the nearest table. His attempt at recovering sent him straight into the breasts of Norah, who, accustomed to such things, pushed him off without comment. Merrill finally took hold of his arm before he collided with the bar, to Corff's relief. "I think he's had too many," called the barkeep, protectively inventorying his glassware.

In her sweetest voice ever, Merrill asked if Hawke would walk her home, keeping with Isabela's plan. He replied, the room spinning, "Don't think I'm in any condition to do that, Merrill." He thought but did not say, "_You twit. ...How many did I have? I don't **feel** drunk..._"

He held her very tightly as a crutch which she, unfortunately, misinterpreted for something more intimate. "_Things are going better than I hoped!_," she thought with delight. Then realizing she hadn't said anything, she offered a little too exuberantly, "Oh! Then I'll walk you home!"

Hawke rolled his eyes and that was a **BAD IDEA**. He closed them to stop everything tilting and said, with a snarl, "Fine."

It took all of her effort to navigate him through the tables to the tavern's exit. Once there, she quickly dropped the ball of string and looped the string around a nail in the wall. "_I hope no one trips_," she thought then, praying for Mythal's protection on those leaving the tavern, she returned her attention to Hawke.

Hawke was concentrating very hard on keeping to the most direct path home but Merrill, without a clue, sometimes misread his veering for leading the way. He was frustrated. And annoyed that she was trying to make chit-chat. She said, "Anders told me that there were mages in the Circle like this. While reading a book, they'd always run into walls in open areas."

She paused, waiting for him to ask why. He didn't because Anders had told him too. Disappointed, she continued, "It's because the hallways are all curved. They're used to veering..."

He nearly rolled his eyes again but knew better. The last thing he wanted was to face-plant into _Merrill's_ breasts. "_She'd think she'd turned me straight for sure_," he thought, chagrinly.

After a while, she grew quiet and her pace slowed. Irritated, he said, "Merrill! Hurry up- hey, what are you reading?"

"Nothing!" she said, hiding the recipe behind her back.

"_I'm like a bug in a web_," he thought, shaking his head, "_Any minute Isabela's going to jump out, tie me up, and both of them are going to dance around in victory._" Then it dawned on him that maybe Merrill was up to something; while she was reading, he could walk straighter and didn't get dizzy. He concealed his panic but quickened his pace.

"_Vile man-trap indeed..._," he thought. Then, alarmed, he thought, "_Is **this** blood magic? ...If it is, she could read my thoughts! ...But if she read my thoughts, she'd probably be all pissy about me thinking her a twit. ...It isn't blood magic, neither of us is cut. ...Right?_"

He risked glancing at her; she was reading and muttering to herself again. No open wounds he could see. "_Unless she's on the rag_," he thought. His mouth coated at the thought and he shuddered with disgust.

Then he saw the door to his estate and he was flooded with relief.

-2-

Carver and Fenris walked in silence down the hall and stairway. The tavern was clearly out. Looking to their usual table, Fenris didn't see Hawke. He scanned the room. No Hawke anywhere. "_Odd_," he thought.

He made his way to Corff and asked, "Did Hawke leave?"

"Yeah," he replied, "Left with that Dalish girl maybe five, ten minutes ago."

"_Very odd_," thought Fenris. Carver put some coppers down for an ale. As he turned to leave with Fenris, Corff said, "The coppers bought the ale, not the mug," still holding onto tankard.

"Fine. How much?" countered Carver.

Corff wasn't used to his bluff being called. The typical clientele at last call were much less with it, generally speaking. He waffled and Carver yanked the tankard from him. Corff sputtered and called, "I- Tha- I'm putting that on your tab!"

Dismissively, he waved bye over his shoulder as he took a pull of his ale. Once outside, he smashed the tankard on the ground...and noticed a slowly unfurling ball of string. He pointed it out to Fenris. Fenris, in turn, pointed out the taunt length was in the same direction they were heading.

"Shall we follow it?" asked Carver.

"Perhaps."

They set out together with weapons drawn, wary but curious.

-3-

Merrill slipped in before Hawke could shut the door. "Hi, Bodahn, Sandal," she said to the dwarves.

He asked, "Bodahn, could you bring **me** some tea?" Then, more to Merrill than him, he said, "**I'm not feeling well.**"

Instead of getting Hawke's hint, she brightened and asked, "Could you also bring us a sjar of honey?" She was impressed with herself that she came up with a convincing request so quickly after Hawke nearly derailed her.

"Begging your pardon, Miss Merrill, but I don't believe I know what a 'sjar' is."

Her confidence disappeared.

Then he graciously offered, "We do have _jars_ of honey, however. I must have misheard you."

She swallowed and nodded wordlessly. As Bodahn turned to fulfill her request, she set her focus on Hawke, making him stumble up the stairs. He grimaced as she helped him up.

"_This woman is determined to rape me!_" he fumed, "_I've got to learn this counter spell..._"

Merrill set him on the bed and bent to help him take off his boots. He batted her aside but they both jerked up when they heard dishes crash beyond the door.

"_Mythal..._," Merrill internally groaned.

She and Hawke both (effortlessly) exited Hawke's room to the main level. Dog was licking honey from the hands and hair of bruising Bodahn, prone on the floor. At the larder entrance, Sandal was clapping and giggling.

"Sandal, run and get the cleaning supplies!" ordered Hawke. Sandal turn to comply, still giggling.

Hawke kneeled to heal him so Bodahn could escape being licked raw by the sweet-toothed Dog. With the commotion, Fenris and Carver's entrance went unnoticed.

When Fenris saw Merrill with Hawke, he sneered and cut the string. He had had the faintest hope that the string's purpose was to lead to a surprise between him and Hawke. "_I should have know_," he thought, seething.

"Did your plan work, witch?" he called, storming across the room. Carver was confused by his comment but followed him. He suggested, "Hey, look, I'll take her home. It's been a crazy night and we can sort it out in the morning."

Both Hawke and Fenris looked at Carver, then Merrill, and grunted their dismissal. Fenris picked up the broken dishes while Hawke helped Bodahn to his feet. Dog wagged his tail, looking from Hawke to Bodahn's hands, scheming a way to sneak in another lick.

Merrill's face was bright red as she edged away from them toward Carver. As before, an unbidden image of Merrill's pre-orgasmic face formed before his eyes. But this time there was no Fenris...

Carver swallowed and fought the urge to act on his fantasy right then and there.

"_Keep it together, Carver_," he coached himself, "_she doesn't even know you exist..._"


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: These are borrowed, Bioware-owned characters.

**Prompt**: Merrill's adorable and devious self.

* * *

**Notes**: Sorry, pr0nz in next chapter. Posting them both so you don't have to wait. :)

* * *

-1-

Carver and Merrill walked for a while in relative silence until he finally plucked up the courage to initiate a conversation. He said, "Ahm, your people came a long way, Merrill...but I...like to think we have Ferelden in common."

Absently, she replied, "Yes."

He waited for her usual happy chatter that didn't come. "...Is something wrong? ...You seem...sad."

She sighed, forlornly, and said, "Oh...I apparently have a gift. Foolish pursuit of the unattainable."

Carver assumed she meant the repair of the Eluvian, not bedding two gay lovers. "_So that's why she was with brother... Trying to get that knife again... But why Isabela?_" he wondered. Then he ventured, "Is that what the recipe is for? ...Fixing your mirror?" He cursed at himself for revealing he'd been eavesdropping.

"What? ...Oh! Um, n- no." Her cheeks reddened, to Carver's internal torture. Then she lied, "That's um, it's something...for, uh...for Isabela!"

He exhaled, relieved. Mostly because her and Isabela's meeting was benign as Varric had predicted. But also because she didn't register that he was listening through the door to their conversation.

"May I see it?" he asked, trying to be the helpful gentleman (and to continue the deflection). Her green eyes widened and her blush deepened. The image Isabela had conjured in his mind of Merrill's orgasm was making it difficult for Carver to conceal his arousal.

Not knowing what else to do, she gave him the recipe from her pocket and braced herself for his reaction.

Reading the ingredients, he suggested that they take a shortcut through one of the Hightown gardens to gather some of the supplies. She consented, wondering why he was being so nonchalant about what was clearly a phallic sexual instrument. "Do you have lyrium at your apartment? Sandal could enchant the w-"

Carver nearly ran into a swooning, corseted woman. Her burly elf servant set her up right again after she had, apparently, tripped. "My goodness," she said in an annoying, sugary Orlesian accent, "the streets in this country are atrocious!" Her servant made no comment but _might_ have smirked.

Merrill winced; her string had claimed another victim. "_Fen'Harel must have intercepted my prayer..._"

Carver distractedly apologized to the woman and her servant then continued to read. "This spellwork is tricky..."

Merrill looked at them, still confused why she hadn't been chided, and questioned, "Spellwork? But you aren't a mage, how do you-"

"I've been around it my whole life, Merrill, and I work in the Gallows. I can't exactly _do it_ but I **do** know a thing or two."

She tilted her head and looked at him; she could identify with that. Being the Keeper's First often meant she was on her own. She watched the others and knew some things by proximity. Music, for example, being something she knew _of_ but couldn't for the life of her **do**. Orana was a patient but, yet another, unsuccessful lyre instructor of Merrill's.

Carver caught her looking at him and shyly smiled. She smiled back and thought, "_He has a nice-_"

"Ah, look, there's our shortcut," he said.

He parted the tall shielding shrubs and revealed a sloping botanical garden. Merrill forgot her impending chastisement over the recipe and gasped with delight: "Oh, Carver! This is wonderful!"

-2-

Aveline passed a drunk beggar who was swearing up and down that he tripped on something to his friend. His friend, sour-faced from having his bottle of mead broken, asked, "'hen where's th' ting you tripped on, eh? ...Greedy bastard. You was after me mead and you knows it!"

Aveline paid them no attention but did notice a...string? "_What is this?_" she wondered. She pulled on it; when faced in the direction of Hightown to gave no resistence. But when facing Lowtown... "_Hm. Not a tripwire. Doesn't appear to trigger any traps. ...Perhaps this is a clever way to point fiends to their piece of the take._" She smiled, pleased with her 'detective work' and slowly furled it as she walked its crooked path.

-3-

Carver marveled as Merrill skipped happily in the garden's clearing. Moonlight on her pale skin made her look like a lovely deity. He was enthralled. She grinned at him, then looked in his eyes. They were blue. Really, really blue. And they were looking back at her with...delight? ...Desire? Blushing again, she glanced away momentarily.

If she did that again, he was certain that he'd come undone. But before he knew what he was doing, he grabbed her hand. Losing his nerve, he said, "Uh...Honey! Honey was on the list. I bet there's a hive around here somewhere."

They eventually located one and he climbed the tree to knock the hive from its branch. Merrill watched him ascend; his strong limbs were very muscular. It struck her that Hawke was unusually burly for a mage and Fenris was unusally lithe for a warrior; Carver, however, was well-built. "_Where **is** his mabari tattoo?_" she wondered.

Caught off guard by the thud of the dislodged hive and the buzz of its angry residents, Merrill startled but then easily repelled the bees while Carver scaled down the tree. As Merrill collected the honey in an empty flask, he walked up and said, "I always wanted to be a beekeeper."

"Really?"

"N- no, get it? Wannabe bee-keeper."

She rolled her eyes at his corny joke and grinned. ...Then she mentally ran down the list of attributes she used to describe Hawke; was he any of those things? Was it Hawke and Fenris that she wanted...or to be a part of a clan...to be someone's someone...to belong?

After a completative moment that Carver was sure he fouled up with his dumb joke, she said, "Thank you, Carver."

He blinked. "...For?"

"For helping me realize something," she replied. Then she stood up, took his hand in hers, and kissed him. His heart faltered. Mouth agape, he thought, astonished, "_Did that just happen?_"

Without thinking, he blurted, "Anything else I can help you figure out?"

"Yes, actually," she said, mischeviously, "This recipe. ...Which way to my house?"

He pointed and she lead the way.

-4-

Aveline waited in the shadows. Whoever it was that tied the string would surely come to retrieve it once they discovered their plan didn't work. So, when Merrill picked it up, showed it to Carver, and put it in her pocket, Aveline was confused but suspicious.

"_Better follow them_," she decided.

-5-

Aveline watched them stroll at a distance. She hadn't seen either of them laugh and smile so much in a while. "_But it's Merrill_," she told herself, "_who knows what sort of risky business she's in, intented or otherwise._"

When they descended the stairs to the Alienage, Aveline rounded the corner and loudly cleared her throat. She held her shield at the ready, just in case. "_Nice night. You just returning from the Hanged Man?_" she asked, knowing they hadn't.

Carver and Merrill looked over their shoulders with differing expressions: his was of irritation and hers of surprise. "_Hm, so this was Carver's idea_," Aveline deduced. Her more critical conspiracies of Merrill were demoted in likelihood...not now.

"Followed us, did you?" Carver asked, suspecting an affirmative. Aveline nodded and he rolled his eyes, then asked, "For how long?"

"Since the tavern."

He thought, "Good. She won't lecture us about cutting through that garden."

Merrill said, cheerfully, "You were very quiet, Aveline. Quiet as a mouse. ...Not that I think you're a rodent!"

Carver gave Merrill a sidelong glance and wry smile, charmed by her adorable flailing. Aveline said nothing, raised an eyebrow, and looked pointedly at Carver, asking, "...So then...would you like an escort back to the Gallows?"

Insulted, Carver was about to protest when Merrill interjected, "No, he's staying with me tonight."

Both Carver and Aveline snapped their attention to Merrill. After a long pause, Aveline said, "Well...then. I'll...just...be on my way." She gave Carver a 'be careful' look and turned the way she came.

Eyes wide, he floated across the Alienage courtyard on air. "_This is happening, this is happening!_" he thought, in excited disbelief.

At her door, Merrill said, "Um, I, well um, you- you can stay if you'd like. I just said that to get rid of Aveline."

Carver visibly deflated.

"...Is something wrong?" asked Merrill, tilting her head sweetly.

His mouth dry, he shakily confessed, "I-...I _would_...like to," then more quickly, "butonlyifyouwanttoo."

A slow smile spread across her face. Still smiling, and blushing a little, she wordlessly found the key to her apartment and opened the door.

And, with that, Aveline left her 'post' at the Alienage stairway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: These are borrowed, Bioware-owned characters.

**Prompt**: Merrill's adorable and devious self.

* * *

**AU Warning**: This fic bypasses the 'New Path' quest; Marethari is still alive. Also, I figure that more than one type of demon could be in Merrill's mirror.

* * *

"By the Dread Wolf! Why is my house always a mess when people are here? It's clean sometimes, I swear," fussed Merrill. "Um, may I get you some tea?"

He nodded. Carver had been in her home numerous times before, but never alone with her and never for long. He surveyed the apartment, taking in all of the curious knick-knacks she had on display. She re-entered the room with some boiling water as his eyes fell on the Eluvian.

He didn't say anything but felt a pang of wrongness. He was a Templar and she was an apostate, a blood mage. His face soured and she noticed. "Is everything alright, Carver?" she asked, sweetly, as she set the water down and touched his shoulder.

He hesitated. Here he was, alone with the girl he had liked for years, and he was about to ruin it with his honor. Carver looked in her beautiful, concerned eyes and took in a deep breath.

"Merrill...about the recipe...I am...I'm okay with making the knife coating...but not if Isabela is trying to help you fix that," he gestured to the Eluvian, "That thing only causes you trouble."

She shook her head, very confused. With a glimmer of understanding, she said, "Knife coating? That's, uh, that's not what the recipe is for." She giggled then said, "...Did you...see the diagram?"

He unfolded the parchment and looked at it closely. Then his eyes shot wide and he blushed as red as his brother scar's. Merrill giggled riotously.

"For Isabela," he recalled, it all clicking into place. Merrill stopped giggling, kissed his burning cheek as she handed him his tea. Forgetting that she had lied earlier, she said, "Well, I don't think I'll be needing it," shyly smiling at him, meaning that she didn't want to bed Hawke and Fenris anymore. But, since he didn't have that key piece of information, that was not how Carver interpreted her comment.

He coughed, hot tea threatening to come out of his nose. "For you?" he exclaimed, a stupid but impressed look on his face.

She died from embarrassment, right then and there. He lifted her chin. She tried to look away but his grin told her he wasn't rejecting her as a pervert like she'd feared.

His grin growing ever broader, he ventured, "And why won't you be needing it?"

Sheepishly, she said, "Because I...like y-"

A desire demon from the Eluvian hissed, "Ssso Merrill, have your desssiresss changed?"

Whirling around, Merrill's eyes narrowed when she realized the 'spirit' was taunting her. And about to tell Carver her former plans of getting with his brother and Fenris. "_Carver's right. Nothing but trouble_," she concluded.

Crossing to the mirror, she covered it with the tablecloth and smashed it with the chair. The demon made an unearthly yowl that faded into silence.

Carver stood dumbstruck. And impressed. And...flattered.

Walking over to stand next to her, he reached for her hand. Then he noticed she was barefoot and there was glass everywhere. "Let's not get any of that blighted glass in your feet, shall we?" he offered. She nodded and he scooped her up into his arms, carrying her down the hall.

He set her down in the bathroom so she could wash her feet. Then he got a broom and dustpan from the kitchen and swept up the glass in the living room.

"Good riddance," he said sliding the wrecked glass into the trash bin. Then a thought came to him, "_I bet she'd have a field day in the Gallows library. All sorts of elven history books in there. ...Or...maybe I could bring them to her. An excuse to visit again..._" He smiled at the idea and returned to the bathroom to run it by Merrill.

Except, the shower was on. "Carver?" she called through the door. Not sure what to do, he said, "Here," through the door.

"Can you bring me a washcloth?"

"Erm..."

"In the hallway closet there to the right."

He got one then waited at the door for her to retrieve it. She didn't. "Carver? Are you still there?"

"Um, yes-"

"Are you coming in?"

His jaw dropped. Naked, wet, elf girl Merrill was inviting him to join her in the shower? "_Surely not_," he thought, turning the knob.

"Oh, you'll need one too," she said, peeking out from behind the curtain as he entered the dark, steamy bathroom. He swallowed, heart pounding. The candles she had on the tub's edge with her made her silhouette plainly visible.

He quickly got another washcloth, stripped, and gingerly pulled back the curtain. He looked at her, appreciating her form. She squeaked, "Get in, it's cold!"

Carver stepped in and she playfully splashed him with some water. "How do you have heated water?" he asked.

"Well, I have to boil my water, you know. So, I just keep some warmed up in the still there. Varric installed the plumbing."

"_Dwarven engineering_," he mused. Carver made a note to thank Varric next time he saw him.

Carver presented the washcloths. She took one, hung the other on the curtain rod, added some soap, and lathered her arms, chest, and stomach. Then she looked at him coyly and asked, "Do you want to do the rest?"

He blinked, stunned. Then she said, "Or I could to you first," draping her washcloth over her shoulder and reaching for his.

She pressed her soapy body against him and massaged his shoulders, back, and arms with the cloth. Noticing his erection, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kiss him deeply on the mouth. The warm water cleansed all traces of soap away as they kissed passionately under the shower's spray.

Smiling, she turned around and motioned for Carver to scrub her back. He tried to be slow and sensual as she had done to him but the pressure in his groin was starting to hurt.

Then she glanced over her shoulder, took the washcloth...and began massaging his length and balls.

"M- Merrill," he said in a wavering voice. Then, she stopped. Moving the shower curtain aside a bit, she balanced herself against the shower wall by forcing her feet against the opposing side of the tub. She beckoned to him to stand between her legs. Merrill massaged his member a little longer with her hands then slid him inside of her. Tilting her head back, she moaned at how wonderfully thick he was.

Supporting himself against the tub wall, he thrust deeper in. The opposing sensations of the cooler air from outside the shower and the warm water still flowing down played on his skin. But with each pump, he was heating up.

Her delighted and encouraging cries helped quicken his pace. She wrapped her legs around him and she slid down the wall a bit. And it was a lovely angle. Fighting for air, she rasped, "Carver!" He watched as she came, dazzling green eyes surrounded by red-flushed skin, and he followed soon after.

It was more beautiful than any of his fantasies had been.

* * *

**Notes**: Tying the final-chapter-bow on this fic next.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: These are borrowed, Bioware-owned characters.

**Prompt**: Merrill's adorable and devious self.

* * *

**Notes**: You probably guessed that RL stole me away. Apologies for the delay... Just a short chapter to tie up the loose ends.

* * *

-1-

_Next morning._

Isabela squinted one eye as she struggled to get the key into her apartment door. Her head was buzzing a bit. "_Nothing a gin and tonic can't handle_," she thought.

Varric, with a slight bounce in his step as he walked toward her, called from down the hall: "Well, hello, Girl-Next-Door." Then, reaching her, he grinned and asked, "What do you remember?" He thanked the Stone he sounded more mischievous and less hopeful than he actually felt.

She grinned deviously. "A dwarf with manly chest hair...and **two** dicks." She paused with faux nonchalance and said, "Strange dream," as she finally locked the door. Isabela flashed another devious look his way. Then, remembering something, she said, "Wasn't I suppose to do something for Merrill?"

Now he was feigning nonchalance. He said, "I took care of it, Isa, uh, I mean Rivaini," and handed her the edited friend-fic.

She ignored the accidental use of her private nickname and she said, delightedly, "Varric! Oh, I'd kiss you if you were taller!"

"No worries, Rivaini, I'm equal parts tits-man and legs-man. The view is fine from here," he replied with a wink.

Walking down the hallway together, she side-stepped the talkative regular and continued to scan his work.

"Mawke, Cherrill, and Fenril test the strength of her new staff...?" then she said, "You suck at summaries, Varric."

He shrugged. "Everyone's a critic."

-2-

"Suppose Aveline locked up Anders since she wasn't running after you last night?" asked Hawke, wryly, then kissed Fenris' brow.

"Yes, yes, good morning. ...Should I perturbed at your concern for your fellow mage?"

He held the elf's jaw affectionately. "Only if you want to, Fenris," he replied, his tone both tender and ornery.

Fenris shoved off the covers and pulled up his breeches. "Well...I suppose we'll be rescuing him or someone today?"

Hawke, getting dressed as well, said, "Oh, come now. We don't know if _anyone_ needs rescuing. And, if Anders does, he can surely suffer at the hands of our Aveline until after breakfast, hm?"

Hawke patted Fenris' rump, Fenris rolled his eyes (smiling slightly), and they both left Hawke's dim room.

They squinted as the light poured in from the still-uncurtained window. "_I really do need to get those curtains put up_," thought Hawke. Bobbing down the stairs to the kitchen, Hawke remembered and asked Fenris about counter-spells.

"So you couldn't walk straight and got dizzy when you tried? ...Sounds like the Misdirection hex to me."

"Hm...I wonder if Anders knows the counter-hex..." Hawke said absently. He didn't register Fenris' exasperated sigh. Fenris thought, "_Festis bei umo canavarum..._" then said, "Perhaps you'd prefer Anders' company to mine?"

Hawke stopped, turned to face Fenris, and quietly shook his head. Fenris harrumphed, not entirely satisfied with his response, but continued to walk with Hawke down the hall.

Opening the door, Hawke was surprised to see Carver helping Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana with breakfast. Trying to get a rise out of him, Hawke said, "Why, if it isn't my baby brother, Carver! What's gotten into you, hm? ...And in yesterday's clothing. At the Blooming Rose again?" Certain Carver was distracted, Hawke stole a couple of bacon slices for he and Fenris to share.

Carver put more in the pan to replace the ones his brother stole. "Nope. They don't launder your clothes." He paused then said, self-satisfied, "...**I** was at Merrill's."

"Thought you templars were trained to fight blood magic," said Fenris, unimpressed.

Carver replied, with a smile to himself, "Definitely wasn't blood magic."

"You wanted to?" said Hawke and Fenris in unison.

"...For a very long time." Then, more brightly, he said, "Merrill wants to see the Gallows' library. I'm going to sneak her in tomor-, um, sometime."

Ignoring that Carver gave away when his 'grand plan' was going to take place, Hawke asked, "To fix that damn mirror?"

"Nope." Then, sheepishly, "To visit me."

Again in unison, Hawke and Fenris exclaimed, "What?"

-3-

Lowtown was bustling with activity. After all morning in the Chantry, everyone was in a hurry to finish their errands before the start of the workweek the next day. Merrill inspected various fruits and vegetables. Isabela pick-pocketed the well-dressed shoppers.

"So, Merrill. How did it go?" asked Isabela, already smirking.

Merrill laughed brightly. "Oh, horribly."

"How so? asked the pirate. "_Planning isn't my forte, I admit, but that's a tad harsh..._" she thought.

"Well, Carver and I are dating."

"What?" Isabela exclaimed. The coin purses she stolen nearly dislodged themselves from between her breasts.

Merrill reviewed the previous evening's events. Isabela was especially interested in the shower sex with _heated_ water. "_Varric and I'll have to try that_," she thought, already scheming.

She said, paying for Merrill's food with the money she just stole, "So...you and Carver, huh? Kitten, I've very perceptive, you know. And, I must admit, I never saw _that_ coming." With a grin to herself, Isabela thought, "_Guess Varric and I will need to do a revision cycle._"


End file.
